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I met ecstasy at a party.
she was dancing, laughing

flickering strobe lights
painting her face

her body glowing
deep. electric blue. henna

radiation exposure from black lights

music so loud
the pulse overtook my heart.

looking around
the pulse had taken everyone's.

The moon was power here
a cult against the rising of the sun

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which fall so sweet
are light
floating into moonlight

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if you haven't
been acquainted
this is truth
no one is being written off
but that bucket of youth.
flowing and I'm not a hero
lost is substance.
is existence,
if not aside
the dynamite,
is my last allegory

If you don't think this poem applies to you, let me tell you: I wrote it specifically for you ❤️

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we ran, stoned, through alleyways
like rats pouring down urine coated steps
escaping onto the cliffside.

our legs dangling, feeling the water
lapping angrily from hightide,
bitter sweet sea spray biting
our smiling faces.

colors blazed among turbulent water.
seafoam blanching seaweed.
a constant breeze, pouring
inward from a pacific infinity.

these notebooks have come alive.
crawling, searching for some fingers
to make their pages fill up
appetites sated

Smoke curled from the pipe.
Stress condensed itself,
Tucked, folded
Then was forgotten.
Sulfur from a quenched fire.

I imagine,
in her mind,
a map
of every
fruit and
nut tree
on the block,
and every
walk we
take is a
reason to
nibble and



Simple Sift
September 7, 2021

neither gold nor glycerin, guilty self-nitration by the quill
spilled venom-tongue unstilled, cellular titration sapping will
written into skin, reconstituted back from pill
powder form suspension under hill

binding lashed un-naming, taming, ill

* * *

The cadence
of trees beats
a subtle relief

Roots in a rhythm
out of sync
with its leaves

Each song starts
as seed, in silence,
then achieves

something like wonder,
if a listener wants
to believe


Life is a constant shedding
Threads falling away,
People, memories, dreams.
Until what remains
Just Is

Today I'm taking a break.
To write something whimsical -
without worry,
weight or waste.
so eyes, that read, can taste
addiction to the delicate cadence
of speechless dancing beats.

Read for now but slowly savor, each
word that tumbles out.
Because words are not just power
they are a souls playful shout
which stretches far into imagination
but stays shallow in memory.

I'm glad I took a break and
that you stayed and read with me.

traffic is like
fighting each other
cars diverge
new friends come,
old ones leave.
dancing down the freeway.

In a moment, the door will open
but for now
the room with the window is the world.
the dogs barking / the endless typing.
the plant which wavers with the fan.
my adoring audience.
just a little bit longer
write a little bit more

Not Actually Religion, Poem 

Of Small Gods
August 23, 2021

let me tell you then of that one time
gathered round the warm fires
when humans got exactly right
errorless, the ways and wending
of the smallest, the easiest of the gods

it goes like this

* * *

what have you lost but time.
when all that you gamble
is placed on the table.
nurturing experiences, hope and friends

A gift I gave myself.

Was reading a page of my old poetry
Instead of reflexively hating it
I paused,
Then forgave myself for being young.

Two small finch
balanced on stems,
nibbling seeds,
their hollow bones
in perfect sync
with summer flower,
fluttering, bending,
but holding steady,
swaying in the breeze


Some seasonal

the Sun will always rise
but erelong the warmth
must cede to autumn
rustling beckons forlorn.

heard a lot of wild words
used as weapons their wielders fear.

when change is guaranteed
when life is so complicated

I used to feel like broken vices
were the start of life's first lessons.
each broken chain meaning
more would become experience

But then I still see, still listen
To all the broken people
spewing all the broken phrases.

Doing good things for myself
Is like falling away, not coming together.

To all the broken people on TV.
I don't think we can be together.

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